


Drag

by Jay_eagle



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Crossdressing, Established Martin Crieff/Douglas Richardson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>altered-eagle requested some Douglas-in-drag in which Martin discovers he rather likes the sight of his partner crossdressing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leisure](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=leisure).



> The amazing clairedrawsairdraws and hollyashes were both kind enough to apply their artistic talents to drawing the beautiful pictures for this ficlet - thank you both so much! 
> 
> You can find Claire's original post on her Tumblr at: http://clairedrawsairdraws.tumblr.com/post/117410799389/jay-eagle-this-is-your-fault-with-your-wonderful (it includes a marvellous idea about what happens when they get home... :) )
> 
> And hollyashes' lovely original post at: http://hollyashes.tumblr.com/post/117441100218/hollyashes-jay-eagle-answered-oh-poor-you
> 
> Go follow them both, they're incredible. And if you fancy saying hello to me at the same time, that would be (Arthur-voice) BRILLIANT - I can be found (and prompted!) on Tumblr at jay-eagle.tumblr.com too :)

“Douglas!” Martin hollered up the stairs. “Come on, we’re going to be late!”

 

“Just a minute!” Douglas called back down. “Just - trying - final touches -”

 

“Honestly,” Martin muttered. Arthur had been excited all week for his 32nd birthday, and hadn’t stopped talking about their outing for the whole month since he’d booked it - MJN Air’s first theatre trip. 

 

He tugged uncomfortably at his lab coat, borrowed from Douglas’ absent elder daughter; he’d been quite looking forward to the evening until Arthur had pointed out that he expected them all to be in full fancy dress. He’d objected, but had been vociferously shouted down by Douglas and Arthur in combination (’we can’t see The Rocky Horror Show dressed like normal people, Skip!’) His final hope had been Carolyn, but where Arthur’s birthday happiness was concerned, she was as immovable as an aeroplane-sized block of concrete. “It’ll be fun,” she’d said to him, casting him a flinty stare which had implied that if he didn’t make it fun for her son, there would be _consequences_.

 

It seemed as if Douglas was going all out; he’d mysteriously refused to reveal which of the production’s lunatic characters he was going as, and had chased Martin out of the bedroom before he got changed. Martin had shrugged on his lab coat in the kitchen instead - and ignored the high heels that Verity had pointedly left in the bag as well. Nothing on earth would induce him to put those on. He’d make an utter fool of himself -

 

“Well, hello there.” Douglas’ voice echoed behind him and, startled, Martin spun round to see his partner perfectly framed as he posed in the doorway at the foot of the stairs. 

 

 

“What the -” Martin’s mouth fell open. “You - you’re going out - like that?”

 

“But of course.” Douglas took a step forward, swaying his hips in a sultry manner, and flicked the end of his scarlet feather boa at Martin’s nose. Martin barely reacted, still gaping at the sight of his lover - stunningly poured into a lacy black corset, teetering on high heels and with suspender stockings gorgeously hugging his muscular legs - 

 

Martin suddenly realised just how avidly he was staring and blushed crimson to the roots of his hair. Douglas burst out laughing. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

 

“Can I?” Martin asked, without thinking, and then bit his tongue in embarrassment at so blatantly revealing his naked admiration.

 

Douglas chuckled again, but seeing the look in Martin’s eyes, his expression changed, shifting towards something entirely darker, more hungry. “You like it?” he asked, stepping closer.

 

“Y-yes,” Martin stuttered, not sure whether to back away from Douglas’ advance or to fling himself into it.

 

“You haven’t seen it all yet,” Douglas purred, reaching for Martin’s hands and pulling them to his cinched-in waist, so the captain could feel the lace shifting where it covered the ridged bones of the corset.

 

“I - I haven’t?” Martin asked. His brain had gone offline; he could only stare into Douglas’ eyes, highlighted by the black liner and mascara that somehow Douglas had applied perfectly.

 

“No,” the FO hummed. “Look here.” And he twisted sinuously round between Martin’s hands so that the captain was presented with an excellent view of Douglas’ shapely arse, incredibly pert with the uplift that the stilettos gave him.

 

 

“Oh,” Martin groaned, and without further thought he ran his hands over the twin cheeks Douglas was wriggling in his direction, squeezing them appreciatively. “Oh, _Douglas_.”

 

Douglas smirked. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

Martin gasped, stretching up to rest his chin on Douglas’ bare shoulder, the feather boa tickling his neck. “Like it? That’s an understatement.” Some of his courage returning, he slipped one hand forwards - round - and found the shape of Douglas’ cock beginning to firm under the black silk of the panties.

 

 

 

“Now, now,” Douglas chastised, turning swiftly around again before Martin could go any further. “Weren’t you shouting that we were going to be late?”

 

“Late?” Martin tore his eyes away to glance at the clock on the wall, giving it a resentful stare before returning his attention wholly to the vision of Douglas in drag. “I don’t care.”

 

“Captain Crieff,” the first officer chided mischievously. “We can’t miss the show.”

 

Martin whined his displeasure, trying to stretch to kiss Douglas, but his lover prevented him. “Ah-ah, you’ll smudge my lipstick.”

 

“Douglas,” Martin moaned, “please.”

 

“Not now.” Douglas stepped back, a playful glint in his eyes. “We have to go and celebrate with Arthur.” He took Martin’s hand. “Later.”

 

“Later?” Martin clung to the promise in the two syllables, and reluctantly followed Douglas into the hall. 

 

“Of course,” Douglas said, smoothly, reaching for his longest coat. “ _Someone’s_ got to help me out of the corset lacing, after all.” 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” breathed Martin, and knew that he would remember very little of the evening’s performance, no matter how brilliant it was going to be.


End file.
